Myalgia

On October 13, Ja and I went round and round brisk walking at the Park that can't be named because I don't have the authority to speak its name. As usual, Ja wanted to be 12 steps ahead of me but I just happened to wear my best shoes at that time; so, he never succeeded. I always kept pace with him during the entirety of the walk. 

What made me like that particular walk was--Ja never talked. He was thinking deeply as our feet raced one after the other on the pavement, covering as much ground faster than my mind could perceive. I felt like the walk was a meditation of sort. 

The following week, we were back again at the park that can't be named, walking. But the next day, I woke up with a growing pain somewhere in my thighs that seemed to vanish everytime I moved. It was not pamaol. I developed a fever and was thinking, this might be how a fibromyalgia felt like (because I read about it months back and had no idea what it was). Then, Doc Jean told me, try if the paracetamol will take away the myalgia. Hah! Myalgia! Another Latin word to scare Ja! I used it as soon as I had the chance to talk to him.  After the doctor's visit, another Latin word to scare Ja with. The doctor said I had sciatica. What does it mean? Asked Ja. Just look it up, I said. I'm tired.

 

Love is a many splendored thing

I just came out of the coffee shop where I cracked my head over a story that refused to write when I happened to look up at the sky and see the colours. I never knew that it rained. I never knew that I already spent three hours on a story that refused to work. And when I looked up again, I caught a message on my phone, saying, Ma, I'm here, where are you?! 

It simply made my day.

 

Claveria Street when underground cabling was still in progress

This was what the Claveria Street (above and right), the Crooked Road (below, right) and that street that leads straight to City Hall (below) looked like on June 23, 2021.  They're already clean and orderly now.   

Late post for All Saints' Day

This afternoon, after mass, I happened to pass by the Anda building where the old Radyo ni Juan used to be and resisted the urge to go up, just like old times and see Dodong Solis there. We did not finish our last chat in June last year and before I knew it, he was already gone in October. Can you imagine the feeling? We promised to at least chat because he was about to tell me something but I did not make it, I had lots of stories to follow up that day and then days, weeks passed by and before you knew it, it was over! You could no longer turn back the clock, so they say!

Also last year, exactly on November 1, Orlando "Dondon" Dinoy, our ex-correspondent, became the Inquirer's banner headline. He was shot right inside his apartment by a gunman. I still refused to believe it when the picture circulated on the internet.  He was the type who really loved it when his story would land on the Inquirer's page.  In fact, we was among the very few who braved going out to visit hospitals even during the height of the Covid lockdown, no matter how you order him to stay put and just follow up his stories on the phone. He survived Covid but not the assassin's bullet.  There are so many dead now, friends who have gone away for good. Offering for them.

Of course, I miss my Pa and feel so bad that I could not physically go to visit his grave. I have to find a way. 

The Good Herb

 

In the last three days, my boy has agreed to take the Oregano tea to ease the soreness of his throat. 

We keep your memories alive, Dodong Solis

We heard about your passing yesterday.  I opened my picture files and remember that you told me once, when I was scrounging for stories about the early people in this city, that your folks used to own that piece of land where the new hotel was now standing.  

"That used to be the land where my Lolo's house once stood," you said.

"How rich you must have been by now, if your Lolo had not sold the land," I said.

You said something after this but I could no longer remember your reply. I wanted so badly to remember it now that it has fallen upon our shoulders to remember everything.  

Maybe, some other time, when my mind would be in a more relaxed state, maybe, it would work again and I would remember. 

Just like what the Crystal Woman told me once.  The memory will just come to you in the most unexpected time. It will not announce itself to you when it does, unlike what happens in the movies.  There would be no spectacle, no drama. But you will know when it happens.  The information from the crystals, stored for millennia under the earth, will just come to you and you will know it when it does.

I will remember what the Crystal Woman said to remember the stories in this city. 

I will remember everything. 

Whipping up the delicious dream!

This morning, I tried baking a banana cake with raisin inside my humble oven toaster which does not have temperature control. I don’t know why, but mixing the ingredients and pouring the batter into the pan simply relaxes me.

Work it out!

I finally started doing some writing today and organizing things in my room. This is such a very big deal to me because it will give me back the feeling that I am in control and so that I will not feel being lost anymore.  I hope this will bring back my momentum. I hope I don't get easily distracted but should instead work until it hardens into a habit.
I need to get some pleasure in doing this so that I keep coming back for more.

Dancing at Dusk at Makati Circuit

How to get to the National Museum

Sunset by the Bridge

Pam and I were on our way to Binondo that day--and were we on a jeepney or a taxi? I could no longer remember very clearly--when I pointed out to Pam this amazing sight as we were passing by the bridge. Suddenly, in a split of a second, Pam went haywire and immediately, I understood the urgency of our impulse. I  went haywire, too.
As if we were in panic, we told the driver to stop and as soon as our feet touched the ground, both of us ran to the edge of the bridge and went crazy snapping photos as soon as we got there, oblivious of all the rushing traffic, which I knew was dangerous.  I remember feeling the bridge shake and ramble every time a heavy truck or even a speeding car passed us by and there were just so many of them, passing us by. I feared that I would drop my camera and lost it forever but I continued snapping photos and did not stop.
I was also in constant fear of falling down--because Jones Bridge was a strange and unfamiliar bridge to me;  its height an unfamiliar height; its location, an unfamiliar place. I just arrived in the capital city that week and I still had to get to know the place and its madness, but there I was, beside Pam, and both of us sucked into that most pleasurable madness, both madwomen in our own right!

An afternoon at the Yuchenko Museum

Where I looked at the portrait of Jose Rizal painted by Felix Hidalgo, read the love letters of Leonor Rivera and was saddened to learn about their heartrending love story; contemplated upon some paintings by the masters Juan Luna, Ang Kiukok, Amorsolo and the contemporary exhibit of someone who appeared to be in a breakdown but had such an amazing art. (I'll tell you more about this later).

A chat with Lorrie

Going home to B'la

My Oregano survived!

Over the weekend, Ja was becoming restless and insisted that we went home to B'la to see the impact of the quake on the abandoned house. We saw cracks on the wall and decided it would no longer be safe if another strong quake struck. Water from the last rain had flooded the backyard and drowned most of the plants with mud but I was grateful that my Oregano under the care of Titing had survived!

Swinging back!

I have to put it on record that I've finally cleaned my room today. I have begun sorting my things out and putting them in order. This is for me such a great achievement, considering how crazy and stressful my schedules (and my struggles) had been in the last nine months. Now that 2019 is about to end, I have decided to take things really easy, to just take one step at a time, to not strain myself too much; to not demand too much of myself, to just be good and forgiving to myself.
Things that make me smile: my peppermint and rosemary have been doing well. I've cleaned the refrigerator and now, I'm eating figs bought from Majid's Kabab while reading Karl Ove Knausgaard's My Struggle, volume 3 alone in my room!

On our way to Dumaguete

We missed the fast craft and so, we were pressed to
take the Cokaliong boat which leaves Cebu city at 12 pm.

Roommate

They would always look for proofs and so, I would deliver these from the ceiling.  They would also ask for testimonies and in that case, I would bring them Carol dela Cruz who used to live in a room next to mine, who got fired by the call center where she worked so, she was spending long hours at the dorm watching TV at our common dining hall. Sometimes, I'd find her there, designing and stitching a gown for one of the roommates who was expecting a party with her Boss. I never knew she could sew but she said she can, her mother was a seamstress, she was born with a needle in her mouth and she grew up designing gowns and dresses. 
In fact, she was able to come up with a gown, using only her bare hands.  She didn't have a sewing machine at the dorm; no one was allowed to.  Even the volume of our clothes and other belongings was closely monitored by Big Brother. She had a boyfriend who flattered her exceedingly on her cell phone. Other people did not like her because sometimes she nagged the guard to change the container of the water dispenser, acting like a mayordoma of the place. The water dispenser already ran out of water (we were not allowed to change these, ourselves), so she scolded the guard, who was always sleepless and overworked and that was how she pissed off the rest of the roommates.
But when I was about to go to the airport, I dropped a hint that it would be perfect for her to accompany me. She was aware that I had been packing for days. That I never had enough sleep, that I never had breakfast nor lunch that day and that my flight was at 3 pm. That I was too tired from all the packing; that  I ended up throwing away my things because they would no longer fit into my luggage.  That I would have wanted to bring along my tumbler and my reading lamp and my mug as a souvenir of my stay at the place but still, I ended up throwing them because they wouldn't fit my luggage. I just made it a point never to throw away the books that I'd accumulated from my almost-two-year stay there and so, I sent them by courier.  The LBC girl who was so snotty and strict the previous day noticed that I kept coming back for more books to send, saw the haggard look on my face and suddenly turned gentle and helpful.
But I was simply too tired and too stressed out to go to the airport, I felt I would collapse.  "How about if you'd go with me? Just take a little stroll?" I asked Carol. "But I don't have any money for fare," she said. "Don't worry about that, I'd shoulder it," I said. That fired up her imagination and she said, "Okay, I just want to take a look at the airport."
She was a really heaven sent on our way to the airport. I swore I could never have lifted my heavy luggages, there were just too many of them, without her. I wouldn't have been able to negotiate with the people to carry our luggages down the dorm to the Grab taxi, I wouldn't have been able to spot the Grab, she was really a perfect Doña Carolina, everybody obeyed her; she was perfect for the role.  I was already crushing under the weight of my emotions but she was the one who brought us both to the nearest McDo at the airport to grab a bite. She even brought me to the chapel while I tried so hard to keep awake.

Old Photograph

Pa was still alive when I took this picture.  He was already stricken, though. I went off to take photos of the landscape during the height of the El Niño and ended up taking photos of my shadow.

Curious Life

This was a portrait of my life on May 27, 2018, the exact date this image was taken.  I lived here for almost a year even if I never really wanted to go to this particular city because I never knew what to expect here. But somebody said I had to come here to get a job because there was no job opening in the place where I lived. So, I tried to make do with myself here.  I never knew I could survive months in this tiny space with just a reading lamp, books and my cellular phone to keep me company--but I did!  (Well, of course, I only lie down here after work; so, that's not exactly accurate.  I only had a few hours to lie down in this tiny space every day). 
Now, when I look back to my life here, I remember all the New Yorker magazines that I've read, all the podcasts that I listened to, the Toni Morrisons and those folded The New York Times on my cluttered bed? Yes, it was such a rich reading life (though, I felt so detached, headless, without my boys).
And minus what I've been going through at my workplace, this tiny space actually brings me good memories, good vibes when I think about it now.  
But at my workplace, it was different. I'm writing that experience, though, because what use would that experience be if I couldn't mine it for a story?